


The Catbird Seat

by Dopamine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, Blood, Demons, Drama, FHQ, Fantasy, Gen, Gore, House Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Intrigue, Kidnapping, Literal Demon-Eat-Demon World, M/M, Magic, Monsters, POV Multiple, Psychological, Sexual Content, Shapeshifting, Slow Build, Survival, Teamwork, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12223113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dopamine/pseuds/Dopamine
Summary: Bokuto's talons dug deeper into his shoulder but, for once, Akaashi had nothing to calm that anxious tension. Despite their three options, they had only one choice. "Please allow us to join your quest."(Or a story shadowing the canon adventure's fair beginnings to its tumultuous ends. Welcome to the FHQ.)





	1. In which demons are in want of a meal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I began plotting this because I thought the FHQ needed more Fukurodani, but I'm a greedy reader and a greedier writer, so I have no else to blame for this except myself. Shout out to one of my inspirations for this story, the Violinist of Hameln, which provided me with the titles for the other kings.
> 
> Good luck (to all of us)

The townsfolk used to warn their children that a quiet forest was one inhabited by demons. Do not to venture into those silent places, they would say, for what dwells in darkness is oft to stay there if left undisturbed.

Kuroo would argue that such a pleasant fiction was half-true at best. And besides, it wasn't in the silence where humans ought to find themselves afraid. The very center of one of their town squares was enough.

Flames blazed in a bonfire, fueled by the wretched savagery of beasts who cared not for pleading lips. Bokuto claimed he had first seen the pillar of smoke from his tree, miles and miles away, while the sun was still out and Akaashi was still asleep. Hours had passed since then, the inky dark sky turned grey, clouded in gloom. The air tasted acrid with scorched wood and sweetly putrid from burning flesh.

The town twisted in the throes of chaos, but it would be all over soon. Dawn was approaching now and there was only so long that demons could play with their food before hunger triumphed over amusement. A monster hoard offered little in that regard; human in shape but more beast than demon with muzzled snouts and beady eyes. Boiled leather, no doubt stolen off their human victims, covered wrinkled, twisted bodies patched with thick grey fur. Clawed hands struggled to clutch at spears and knives—an interesting choice, Kuroo observed, for monsters were not known for their intelligence with tools.

The beasts threw their spears straight up into the air, only to yelp and run when the sharp points fell back down at them without finding their target. Away from the danger that was no danger to _him_ , Kuroo laughed. Again and again the monsters tried to fight against those who had invaded the town in their wake. The flickering firelight rippling on the smoke only made sinister specters of those with wings.

The crash of a wooden door thrown open cut through the chaotic din. The hulking creature appeared—the leader of this monstrous gang. It ducked beneath the frame before standing tall, passing just within a stone's throw of where Kuroo slouched back against a wall. Upon its head was a silver helm, useless and broken across the crown to allow great, white horns to sprout like old trees. The sight reminded Kuroo of a great white stag, and perhaps the creature was one, once, before it became what it was: a demon, surely, but one still too attached to its forest, to the beast inside, to truly be called a demon.

Bokuto was going to be disappointed when he found out, but the fight should at least deliver something of interest in levels of strength. It was no wonder the townsfolk quivered in their hiding places around the square—afraid of this creature’s size and the threat of great magic besides. And so they hid instead of ran, for the forest looming on the edge of the town held no promise of safety for them, either.

Stomping into the square with its face skyward, the creature took center stage as his monsters swarmed to his side. “If you want a fight, come down here and fight me!” it roared with a clash of two axes together held in bulbous fists. The horde about him cheered with an animalistic pitch which dropped Kuroo’s grin.

He poked a finger into an ear as to clear it of a short-lived ringing.

In the overcast sky high above them all, a spark flashed to life. Flickering white and gold, it stretched itself wide and arched like a bow string.

Kuroo paused his finger, held his breath, waited.

As quick as it came into being, the spark faded away with the sound like a dry crunch of a leaf, and just as dead.

The bonfire crackled in a breath of silence. The dead monsters from the earlier fight lied still and untouched where they had fallen in Bokuto's last swipe.

Kuroo let out his breath with a shake of his head and a fond, but not entirely kind, “Oh, Bokuto.”

The creature laughed and shouted again, acquiring a chorus of further taunts and cheers from its hoard.

It was cute, really, their optimism. As much credit as the behemoth boss was due, Kuroo knew better on what had drawn the townsfolk to stay. They were terrified of their daylight aggressors. They were afraid of drawing attention of monsters that attacked each other as easily as they would attack a guileless human.

But then they had never seen a pair of demons ambush what was, in a way, their own kind, for demons and monsters were not human, no matter how much they tried to be.

Kuroo swung himself up onto a wall to get a better view out of the approaching storm. And so he shortened his body and lightened his weight, making two feet and two hands into four silent, nimble paws. Slick black fur made him but a shade in the night.

To his surprise, he had had company nearby all along. Just on the other side of his wall squatted two young men. Shards of light from the bonfire pierced through weaknesses in the wall’s foundations, cutting away at the shadows marring their faces. They were armed, but poorly. Freckles, who had one hand covering his mouth, gripped a dull spear in a bloodless white fist. Glasses had what looked to be a glorified piece of plank wood for a shield, complete with a handle on the interior and little else.

“Don't hurt yourselves with those,” Kuroo called down to them, knowing neither one could hear his words—they were only human, after all—but it wasn't as though he made no noise.

“Tsukki…” Freckles murmured behind a trembling hand, catching Kuroo's eyes. Kuroo grinned in a way no true housecat could compete. Freckles took a quick, audible breath.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukki retorted in a sharp hush. His eyes were locked on the other side of the wall. And rather than fear or nerves stiffening his back like his companion, his shoulders were rigid, his eyes narrowed, and he looked, if anything, _annoyed_.

Now that wasn't very nice. Bokuto was doing his best, whatever it was he was up to while taking his sweet time. Surely he was in high spirits at the start but his moods could tarnish over the course of anything. It was easy for Kuroo to ignore the jeering monsters. Bokuto was the type to take it to heart.

But with Tsukki looking on with such rigid focus and pinched distaste, Kuroo decided to have his fun. He crouched down, his long lean tail curling to steady him, and swiped at Tsukki's blonde head. The wall was too high and his arms too short, however, and his paw only caught air. He crouched lower, lower, until his belly skimmed the corner, shimmied over the side further, and he tried again.

The spear—a glorified mop-end—came at him with the swishing movements no more threatening than a broom as the one called Yamaguchi attempted to knock Kuroo back. “Shoo, cat, shoo!” Yamaguchi whispered in panic.

Kuroo had half a thought to scratch him, but thought better of it as he pulled himself back from the ledge to regain his balance.

He would not have seen the matrix of spell lines otherwise. They glinted finer than a spider's web in the firelight. They curved gently between each intersection, waiting steady for whatever breeze might take them and yet never shifting even in the gusts which ruffled Kuroo’s fur. There was little doubt that the Demon King himself would have been impressed by the sight—before slaughtering the caster for such audacity.

But it was clear now that Bokuto was not dejected, or not entirely. That limp spark was Bokuto sharing his current inclination for lightning. This matrix, which stacked an invisible tower on the town square, was no doubt Akaashi's handiwork.

Static in the air rose Kuroo's fur.

And it was in that moment the laughter ended.

Bokuto descended from the sky with a terrible silence. Diving head first, thick arms and chest bare, two generous wings streamlined with his body. In rapid succession, the spell lines were caught underneath his outstretched hand in his descent. And in those bowing lines, anchored to the ground at points unseen, Kuroo could see the spell stretched on and on. A giant net atop the town, with the promise of stealing energy from all its hidden spaces, and from all of those within.

This was going to hurt.

Kuroo leapt off the backside of the wall and onto Tsukki’s head. The tussle was meant to be brief as Tsukki fell back with a curse, as Yamaguchi dived forward to help, as Kuroo’s claws extracted for the next bound. But there was no time to leap away again before he was torn from his fur and forced back into shape. And as Tsukki and Yamaguchi fell into a pile on the ground at Kuroo’s sudden bulk and weight and a billow of red fabric, lightning tore over the wall with spindly fingers and licking flames.

Thunder exploded in the town square. The ground trembled. The stone wall shuddered with the threat of collapse.

His ears rung something fierce in a false quiet. The taunts and jeers had ended. A sound came out of the thick, a distant thing from miles and miles away—a din of clashing metal from the other side of the wall.

Yamaguchi and Tsukki lied unconscious on the ground beneath him as Kuroo pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. His boots scuffed and slipped over the ground, seeking purchase. The muscles in his legs cried out in protest—the sudden stretch of bones and muscles as he was forced back into shape in haste was impossible to shake off so easily. Veins could be a problem, too. They could rip, stretched without warning, and that could lead to internal bleeding. Problematic if he was human, but he would manage.

Demons, after all, were hard to kill.

He coughed as he inhaled a mouthful of dirt and debris hanging in the air. Huffing a breath up towards the tuft of black hair now hanging in front of his eyes was to no avail. It fell back to cover his face as he kneeled there, trembling. “Goddamn it, Bokuto,” Kuroo murmured with a chuckle rumbling in his sore chest.

 

_ _ _ _

 

Everything was calm now. Peaceful, almost, as the two demons in the square busied themselves while the townsfolk rustled quietly at the edges.

Bokuto and Akaashi inspected their kill. The creature’s head was missing. The white antlers, too, now lost amongst the scorched bodies. They had stripped the creature of its armor, and as Bokuto tied the creature's ankles together, Akaashi threw the other end of the rope over a wooden beam in the center square—one probably used for flags or ribbons or hangings, and it did its work well, only groaning once as Bokuto and Akaashi each grabbed the rope and heaved the creature off the ground.

They worked quickly and had the creature dangling by the time Kuroo reached them. Dark, thick blood flowed in a steady stream from its open neck. The earth drank what it could but rivulets in the uneven ground were already forming. Bokuto's lightning surge had hardened an already brittle brick path into solid rock.

Bokuto was smiling wide when he finally turned. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked. His torso and a third of his legs were covered by heavy cloth and pieces of light, silver plate armor, but his arms and back were bare of all but wings and feathers.

“You're a beast as always.” Kuroo grinned and knocked Bokuto's elbow with his own. “The lightning was new.” Bokuto stood taller, glowing under the praise, but Kuroo was already turning to Akaashi, unable to help himself and the less-than-innocent chime in his voice. “That was some fancy spell work. It’s banned, isn’t?”

Akaashi was dressed similarly to Bokuto except he left his knees bare. Like Bokuto, however, metal trinkets wrapped around his bare ankles in weighty measure. Neither Bokuto nor Akaashi wore shoes. “We live outside his jurisdiction,” Akaashi said, quick to understand but with his reaction masked with heavy-lids and dark eyes. But his gaze was sharp. “It shouldn't be a problem.”

Kuroo grinned. “Try telling that to the other mages who've used those kind of spell lines. He's the Demon King, kid. He has no tolerance for it and _everything_ is his jurisdiction.”

Bokuto’s smile deflated and his eyebrows began to pinch. “I don’t think so? How is that possible if he has never been out this way?”

“How do you know he hasn't?”

“Do you know where we are?”

Kuroo thought about it. Rural. Forest. Village. No roads or rivers had led him there. Just Bokuto’s dumb face and an orb that could whisk it’s user across the world. “No idea,” he said, albeit too easily, for he knew that was a mistake when he saw the ghost of a smile in Akaashi's eyes.

“Well, we do,” Bokuto proclaimed as though that was the end of it. “Now stop provoking Akaashi. You're making him angry!”

“I'm not angry, Bokuto-san.” But in truth, Akaashi sounded a little provoked.

“Well, you're making me angry, Kuroo, stop it.” Bokuto's frown pulled to the right as he looked back and forth between them with a silent, stern warning. His eyes stopped on Kuroo. A pause. “What _are_ you going to tell him?”

“Nothing to cause you trouble.” Kuroo rose his hands in surrender. “I'm on your side, Bo.”

That seemed to appease Bokuto after a moment of thought and a final nod.

“I'll tell him like I saw it,” Kuroo added, “you're a real beast, real impressive. The sword was new.”

Bokuto chuckled low and rough—an obvious sign that he was pleased. “I like it but it makes the fight end too quick sometimes, you know?” He held his hands out with his palms up. Dirt crested in the lines but they were oddly clean for having near torn an arm off. The arm dangled from a stretch of skin off the creature, reaching for the ground. “Bare hands are still the most impressive! Right, Akaashi?”

Akaashi, who was watching the blood puddle with a lazy gaze, turned to give Bokuto a steady look. He seemed almost thoughtful and Kuroo had to wonder if he was placating Bokuto when he said plainly, “They get the work done.”

But Bokuto looked enthusiastic, so Kuroo kept his doubt to himself.

As they waited for the blood to drain, the heavy clouds finally opened. Dawn was cresting when the first drops of rain began to land upon them. The carcass—no longer a creature or leader of anyone—crashed to the ground as Bokuto released the rope. Together the three of them—Kuroo only agreeing to carry the bloodless feet—moved out of the rain. Several houses and shops lined the city square in all fits of ruin. Bokuto beelined for the big one, still standing tall, opposite the wall Kuroo had lounged about on. Not waiting to try the handle, Bokuto kicked the door open. Kuroo saw Akaashi glance over at Bokuto, expected him to say something, but the moment passed in silence and they walked into a spacious front interior.

“This is pretty nice for a human house,” Kuroo commented after they dumped the body. He fell back onto a fabric chair that turned out to be harder than expected. He'd definitely been spoiled by Oikawa's more comfortable tastes at the castle.

“Is it?” Akaashi asked with obvious doubt. Despite a few more options for seating, he sat upon the hardwood floor. Bokuto was quick to sit beside him—too quick, but he ignored Kuroo’s pointed look. Their wet clothes dripped onto the hardwood. The hearth beside them sat cold. The logs were scorched but still looked usable.

Bokuto couldn't use magic freely, Kuroo remembered, and he stood up. “I'll get the fire—”

“I've got it,” Akaashi said. He held a hand out, his fingers long and slender, towards the fireplace.

The flicker of light bloomed in the depths of the wood before it blossomed into a steady blaze.

Bokuto let out a satisfied breath.

And then their feast began.

Meat cut in strips, pulled out in chunks, nearly bloodless but not quite. Soon enough Bokuto's clean hands were not clean at all. Akaashi's fingers dug in deep with similar lack of decorum.

They ate their meat raw as Kuroo had not done in what felt like decades. Blood stained fingers and red stained mouths. A flicker of tongue wiping over the lip to snatch at what was missed.

Nothing was going to waste, not with these two.

“You're not hungry, Kuroo?” Bokuto asked.

Kuroo leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His chin cupped in his hands. “You _share_ meat? Since when?”

And to further amusement, Bokuto gave a quick side-eyed look at Akaashi, looked away, and blushed fiercely. “I always share!”

Akaashi, who ate steadily, both hands full, did not seem to notice this reaction. Or did not seem to care. He was fully taken with the food.

The moment came to a momentary still as they all fell silent, all ears were turned toward the front door, listening. The sound of rain had intensified through the door left open, but heavy boots tread carefully. The door slammed close and the rain quietened. Their new company no doubt saw the trail of red which led right to the sitting room, which led right to them. But by then, Bokuto and Akaashi were eating again. Kuroo settled back into the chair. Whoever it was held barely a flicker of threat, like a mouse scuttling in the grass.

And so Kuroo was caught off guard that their guest was a familiar face. Now he looked like a drowned rat, blond hair plastered to his skull and clothes dripping worse than theirs.

Kuroo must have made some noise of recognition, for Bokuto asked, mouth full, “You know him, Kuroo?”

“Sure,” Kuroo said, just as their guest said, “No.”

Kuroo grinned. “Tsukki, isn't it?”

The displeasure was evident. “If you must, it's Tsukishima.”

“I must.”

Bokuto laughed. “I don't really get it, but if you know Kuroo, take a seat!” If the sight of raw meat was rather unappetizing to Kuroo, he could only imagine how Tsukishima's stomach must twist as it did just then. Would it be disgust? Or fear? The fight had not seemed to faze him but humans were interesting that way.  Always something new and yet few of them managed to surprise him. And so when this one did, Kuroo leaned back in interest as he took Tsukishima in in full. Tall, lanky, and just as skinny as Kuroo had first noticed. Magic lacking if it existed at all. A human through and through. Tsukishima had half-turned away without a flicker of anything. His apathy was something fierce, something raw and almost reckless, something which Kuroo wanted to dig into much more than raw meat.

“It looks disgusting,” Tsukishima said.

A gasp slipped past Bokuto's bloodied lips. “What kind of monster are you?”

“I don't want to hear that from you,” Tsukishima replied with narrowing eyes.

Akaashi, still chewing of a fleshy morsel and looking on with lazy interest, was the one who finally said it. “He's human, Bokuto-san.”

While Bokuto fumbled out a, “What? But he's so tall—” Kuroo kicked at the chair beside him.

“How about you come sit down and join us, Tsukki? These two don’t socialize enough.”

It was unsettling to see such a smile which came next. It reminded Kuroo of Oikawa, except without the polish and void of charm. Lips forced upwards in such a way that Tsukishima wanted him to know it was not meant. “No, thank you. I'm just here for a moment and I'll be out of your way.”

“We won't hurt you,” Kuroo vowed with a grin, just as all demons promised to humans before they killed them, surely. “You'd be doing me a favor.”

“A favor?” asked Akaashi.

“I'd have someone normal to talk to.”

Akaashi's eyebrows pinched—not insulted, but possibly something close. Bokuto, meanwhile, cackled. "That doesn't make sense. Humans are the weird ones, ruining a perfectly good meal."

“I don't want to hear that from you,” Kuroo said, side eyeing Tsukishima, who had come to some agreeable conclusion as he walked over and sat down at last. Not so close as the chair Kuroo had nudged from him, but close enough.

Bokuto looked satisfied, and leaned back on his elbows so that he was lounging with his legs outstretch. In this manner, his shoulder rested at Akaashi's thigh. “Kuroo, how can you act so _human_ when you spend so much time with the Demon King?”

Kuroo ran a hand through his damp hair, pinching one of the horns on his head. He didn't have an answer for that.

Akaashi had, at best, a theory, in Kuroo’s opinion. “It’s the cooked food that makes the difference, I think.” And with that, he stripped a fat morsel right off the rib, lied it on metal pan that looked more like a shovel, and thrust it above the hot coals to let the flames lick at the bottom.

It was obvious then that Akaashi had never once cooked his meat, or at least not very well, for he paid it no mind after that.

“So what are you doing here?” Bokuto asked Tsukishima.

“This is my house.”

Bokuto's white hair, still plumed with stray black and white mottled feathers he had been unable to tuck away, deflated as he slumped. “Sorry for the, ah, mess.” Kuroo was mildly amazed he had noticed, but it didn't stop Bokuto from dropping a piece of unsavory fat right on the floor.

Tsukishima shrugged. “It doesn't matter. It's going to burn down shortly anyway.”

Kuroo nearly laughed, but he could sense it was not a joke. “How do you reckon?”

“The citizens held a vote.”

Now that sobered them all up real quick.

Bokuto shot up to sitting with an affronted look. “What? But we're in here!”

Kuroo stared hard at Tsukishima. “I think that's the point...”

“But it's raining,” Bokuto was quick to counter. Steadily, he started to lean back down as though already comforted, and said half to himself, “Won't burn if it's wet. Right, Akaashi?”

Akaashi studied Tsukishima thoughtfully. “It might.”

“It has a thatched roof of hay,” Tsukishima said with a sigh. “I assure you, it will burn just fine.”

“You don't seem overly troubled by this,” Kuroo pointed out. He himself wasn't troubled by this, but he wasn't about to say it. Fire was a creature of its own, but Kuroo had learned to keep it from biting. Akaashi, too, seemed to have some way with fire, which would explain his nonchalant ability to keep eating. The corpse on the ground was mostly white ribs arching off the dark wooden floor.

“It was obvious I would be outvoted,” Tsukishima said. “There is no point in getting upset over something I couldn't win to begin with.” The look in his eyes was bare and innocent and entirely human.

“Then why are you here?” Akaashi asked.

“I have things here I'd rather keep.”

“So that's it then?” Kuroo prodded. “No one to stop it?”

“If the mayor was here, he might.”

“Where is he?”

“Depends on which part of him you want.”

Kuroo winced.

Bokuto laughed. “Wow. Savage. Who did that?”

Tsukishima gestured to the half-eaten meal on the floor.

Which was no doubt what prompted Bokuto to ask, “You're not afraid of us?” And then he took another bite with a flash of white teeth sinking into thick flesh before tearing it asunder with a faint jerk of his neck. The scent of cooling death was steadily overcome by a sweet and savory smell wafting from the fireplace.

“No.” And it sounded like the truth.

“Does this mean you're on our side?” Kuroo asked, leaning forward with a wicked smile.

“No,” Tsukishima said with more force. “Killing three demons isn't going to change anything. There will always be others.”

“That's true.” Kuroo nodded, unperturbed. And to Akaashi, he said, “That meat's going to burn.”

That sparked Bokuto's interest. “Oho? So you do want some?”

Kuroo watched as Akaashi snatched the strip of cooked meat right off the hot metal. It ought to have burned him but Kuroo did not see him flinch.

“Weren't you cooking it for the human here?” Kuroo teased.

“I didn't know demons ate other demons,” Tsukishima said instead of taking the offered morsel by hand at first.

“Take it!” Bokuto prompted with bright and wide, golden eyes. And so with a flinch and a quick flip of sides, for it was undoubtedly still hot, Tsukishima took it. It was then that Kuroo could see that while the cooked piece looked good from the outside, one side was still near raw, and no doubt much cooler.

“I didn't know we could eat demons,” Tsukishima said as he looked down at the morsel in his hands.

“Of course you can,” Bokuto pointed out, rubbing a hand over his chest and stomach. Akaashi's eyes notably followed the path of that hand downward. “We're delicious.”

“Depends on the demon,” Kuroo was quick to retort. Bokuto acknowledged with a nod, and Akaashi gave a small one as well.

“Eating a demon,” Akaashi said, “is a risk. Not many demons do it.” Kuroo knew that himself. It was why he rarely ever partook anymore.

As Tsukishima had shown no interest in eating the piece in his hand, perhaps he was smarter than he looked. “You should take this back then.”

Bokuto snatched both of Akaashi's bloodied hands in his own as though to stop him even though Akaashi had made no motion to do anything. “We don't take back gifts!” Bokuto exclaimed. “Don't waste food, Tsukishima!” His attention was quickly drawn back to Akaashi. “This hand is warmer than the other one,” he marveled. Kuroo couldn't tell which one he meant.

“It's fine. I burned it a bit.”

“Oh. That was stupid.”

Akaashi made no comment, only peering down in interest at his fingers as Bokuto kissed the tips.

Kuroo looked away and back to Tsukishima. “Demon meat might make you ill, but it can do some amazing things, too. And this is quality stuff—the white haired idiot is the infamous Raptor King. He wouldn't bother with anything less.”

Except when he did bother, by accident or otherwise, not that Kuroo was going to bring it up now when he needed to be on Bokuto’s good side. He didn't need to look to know Bokuto was preening again, even though a quick, “Hey!” had sought to interrupt him at calling Bokuto an idiot.

"I'm not really interested," Tsukishima persisted.

Maybe it was a sign of bored leisure, or Kuroo’s interest in finding something in that ocean of apathy, that kept him pushing forward. “You could die,” Kuroo said as though Tsukishima had inquired, "but that's the chance everyone takes when they want power. You might become stronger as you are, or turn into a demon yourself."

He caught Bokuto and Akaashi's gazes. They knew. They understood. Any demon would understand. Humans, now, they were just struggling to survive. What did they know of power? Of true power?

Kuroo liked to think he was an expert on power despite not seeking such for himself. Only madness would drive someone in wanting to become a King of anything.

As though Tsukishima had read such thoughts, he asked, “Does the Demon King eat demons?”

Kuroo laughed. “No. He finds his strength in other ways.”

And none of Bokuto's sudden wave of questions were enough to sway Kuroo to reveal what that was.

“I'm not sure what he does myself,” Kuroo admitted, “but there are big plans in the capital for his expansion.”

“Should you be revealing his plans in front of a human?” Akaashi asked. _Or us_ , went loudly unsaid.

Kuroo grinned as he asked Tsukishima instead, “I saw you hiding during the fight earlier. If you ever plan to make it as a hero with that shield, shouldn't you at least try to get a few hits in?”

“I'm not a hero.” The flatness of his words stole the warmth right out of the room. Kuroo shifted in his seat and even Bokuto looked uncomfortably pressed back. The crackling of the fireplace grew louder along with the rain dripping in from the chimney. “So you don't have to worry,” Tsukishima continued as he stood up. He was smiling again, brightly, but in a way that did not reach his eyes. He swept the damp hair from his forehead, exposing an orderly row of scratches from a pair of claws on his forehead. His finger must have brushed by them for he winced, and let his hand fall. “I'm just a simple mayor's son. Fighting demons is outside my expertise. Please, excuse me.” And with that, he left the room.

“A sensitive spot,” Akaashi observed.

Bokuto stuck his tongue out at Kuroo. “Why'd you ask him if he was a hero? Obviously he wasn't if he was sitting with us.”

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck. It was true. Heroes were oft to leap forward, not stand back and wait for the aftermath.

“I really wanted to see him eat that meat though,” Bokuto said.

“As did I,” Akaashi agreed.

“Do humans combust when they eat demon? Or sprout horns?”

“It's nothing so sudden,” Kuroo said. “A gradual progression.”

“Yeah…” Bokuto still looked to be mulling it over. “That's why we've got to eat all the time. To get stronger.”

Kuroo dragged a hand through his hair, which still refused to cooperate. “You eat all the time regardless, Bokuto.”

Bokuto laughed. Above them came the _thud thud thud_ of torches striking the roof. Bokuto laughed harder as Akaashi began wiping his fingers clean. The first one who was ready to leave was Tsukki. He stomped heavily down the stairs in his haste. A bundle was thrown over his back and he made obvious intent as he passed through the room not to spare them a second glance.

“Bye, Tsukki!” Kuroo and Bokuto called together.

No smile this time. No false pleasantries. Just an acidic scowl and the slam of the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that happened. Thank you for reading! This is a project I've been working on and thinking about for far too long, so I hope you found at least some enjoyment in this first chapter (which is a bit of a prologue) as I make a grand attempt to pull it all together. The character tags will indeed be updated as the story proceeds—I didn't want to tag those who won't be appearing just yet, even though many of them will have major roles when the plot is in full-swing. The same might go for the relationship tags, albeit less so.
> 
> The Great Demon King makes his appearance in chapter two! See you next time?


	2. In which the great king seizes the day

Having done as promised and gone to bed early the night before, Oikawa woke to a sky still dark but flourishing with grey, etched in silver, and blooming with all a new day might promise in return. In the early hours he could snatch them for himself, the day in one hand and the promise in the other. While power was born from the gut, the details took shape in the hands. They could take control one moment and yield it the next at the twitch of a finger or the snap of the wrist. Thoughts which had weighed on him the night before seemed lighter, more agile. Now, like his hands, they bended to his will. A promising start to any day, he mused in content, to wake and be the master of himself.

It was not always that way, even though it should be.

With slippered feet, his steps were but a whisper. The train of his generous robe—too long, Iwaizumi had scolded, but Oikawa was king and as king his robe was perfect, thank you very much!—trailed in his wake across the pale polished floor. The dim hallway remained lit only by what translucent light filtered in through the stretch of windows. Outside, the dark silhouette of trees stood sentinel in the palace garden. The notes of a slow, twirling tune hummed lowly in his throat as the castle basked in a peaceful, undisturbed quiet.

Alone though he was, he was not lonely. There was always someone close at hand when he wished it. And this morning he did. Already meandering with slow, heavy steps in his direction was a tall figure wearing a red jacket of the practical variety, tailored to the knees right above black boots. The bedhead, however, was of the impractical persuasion, and at odds with the slumping shoulders and dark circles under golden, black-slit eyes. It was not the person Oikawa had envisioned, but the company would do in the meantime.

“Kuro-chan!” Oikawa spoke in a bright tone, by no means permitting Kuroo to walk past him with nothing but a nod of greeting. A dark smudge streaked across Kuroo’s chin, too red to be mere dirt or ink. “You look awful this morning.” Smelled foul too: of smoke and earth, blood and decay. Oikawa pinched the cuff of his heavy robe and raised his hand to block his nose. The drape of his wide sleeve curtained his mouth, blocking that, too. It had been far too long since his last rendezvous with the side of himself which hungered for such decrepit things. Iwaizumi had made it clear there was to be no more of that.

One too many promises made, but only time would tell if Iwaizumi would hold him to them now.

“Thanks,” Kuroo said with a dry laugh and slanted grin. His skin looked pulled and parched. “You look chipper, Oikawa. On your way to do something terrible?”

His initial answer was no, but it stayed on his tongue. Oikawa was quite sure Iwaizumi would enjoy what he had in mind, on his way to a bedchamber that was irresponsibly distant from his own. But then if Kuroo thought to send Oikawa on his merry way with a mere word of encouragement and nothing worth telling, as though Oikawa had not seen the state of him, then he was dearly mistaken. Sometimes, regrettably, plans changed.

“How rude. It’s not terrible for _me_.”

“Sounds intriguing.” Kuroo’s eyes narrowed, leering with curiosity. If he had a tail, it would no doubt have curled.

“Iwa-chan needs a wake-up call,” Oikawa said in truth, his words breezy and his shoulders shrugging with practiced carelessness. He couldn’t keep the glint of pleasure tugging at the corner of his lips, hidden still by his sleeve. “Although now that you are here, I remembered I have several tasks at hand to complete. There’s paperwork to finish, invitations to a few distant friends to send, and so forth.” He waved his other hand for emphasis.

“Oho. _The_ invitations?”

Kuroo was easy to like but it was because he was easy to read. Oikawa enjoyed the attention, there was no harm in it, but Kuroo left himself exposed when he tried to cajole Oikawa of his thoughts. Exhaustion was not a good look on him. But surely, then, Kuroo had not forgotten that no one was to leave the castle without permission of the king?

“Join me,” Oikawa bid, gliding once more down the hall. “Regale me with your midnight exploits while we walk. Unless you are too exhausted from your adventures, then I understand.”

The clever Kuroo giving up a chance to offer one-on-one council with no one around to intrude? Impossible. Kuroo was cunning like that, and Oikawa liked him better for it.

“It would be my pleasure,” came the expected reply. 

It was why he had made Kuroo his chief advisor.

And so while it was further suspicious, it came as no surprise when Kuroo did not continue with what was asked of him. “Where do you think humans go when their village is lost?”

“They rebuild or they go to the next village, don’t they?” Oikawa replied in good humor.

“And if that one is gone?”

“Then onto the next,” Oikawa said with a loose, circular gesture of his hand. “On and on. There are hundreds and thousands of villages out there. They have their cities, their castle strongholds.” Ones they thought demons could not slip into so easily unseen. “For now.”

“True.” Kuroo chuckled. “What happens, then, when demons lose their home?”

Oikawa smiled. “Oh, they become like Kuro-chan, of course. They come to me.”

That did not seem to have been the answer sought, for Kuroo's mouth open and then closed, instead mulling it over without a ready reply. Smiling wider, Oikawa touched Kuroo’s arm, earning a side-eyed glance. Maybe it was cruel to ask after the dreary scene Oikawa had witnessed all those months ago, but it was crueler of Kuroo to keep secrets from him. “Did you go visit Pudding-chan?”

“No,” Kuroo said with a shake of his head in weariness, in wariness. “He’s gone.”

Gone as in far away or gone as in dead, it made little difference now, but the decisiveness of those two words, as though Kuroo had done the deed himself, left Oikawa fleetingly silent. “Ah, is that so?” Truth be told, Oikawa did not much care. Pudding-chan—what had his actual name been, again?—had only been at court for three weeks at most, and had lurked in the background if he had ever been present at gatherings at all. It took some time of quiet reflection, easily taken as their walk through the castle continued, but Oikawa could recall a small person, one with a crown of black hair bleeding into a length of stringy yellow to curtain his face. He had stood back at introductions, hiding behind Kuroo’s infamous red coat, with golden cat eyes prying into the proceedings too deeply for his own good. That had bothered Oikawa, those serious eyes. Maybe it was best that Pudding-chan was gone—

“So,” Kuroo chimed at last, a cheeriness to his voice cutting through the din of Oikawa’s thoughts. “How is the guest list for your invitations coming?”

“Now, now, Kuro-chan, you don’t need to humor my interests! We have all morning for that, after all.”

 

_ _ _ _

 

Breakfast was laid out at the king’s table in an array of grilled and boiled fish, omelets, cooked sausage, leek and potato miso soup, pickled vegetables, and rice steamed to such bright perfection that its neighboring dishes seemed threatened to dullness. Plump grapes and strawberries were displayed in matching porcelain bowls. A warm loaf of milk bread, feathery white and still warm from the oven, waited in a wide-woven basket closest to the king’s right hand.

While Iwaizumi had mastered many of the inconveniences of Oikawa’s existence, it was technically difficult to share breakfast with the king in the king’s quarters when the king was absent.

The room did tell a basic story, and one Iwaizumi knew all too well. The sheets were rumpled to show Oikawa had lied there at one point, but wherever Oikawa had ventured, and when, had occurred without the attendants’ notice. Yet again. It made him more an eel than a king in many ways. Any instructions for said attendants to stop the king from wandering about in his bedclothes had once more been neglected . Everything from the king's dark cape to his white leather boots remained in the bedchamber on a neat display.

“He said he wished to wake you, Iwaizumi-san,” Iwaizumi was told. “Hours ago.” _Hours_ ago. He waived it off and excused the attendants back to their other duties. He was captain of the guard, not a bloodhound chasing after Oikawa’s heels. Or so he told himself as he forcefully sat down and picked up his chopsticks. Today was a morning of rest away from the training yard, and while Oikawa had gotten better over the years at following that rule, perhaps today he had forgotten. The idiot.

But Iwaizumi had not yet filled his plate when word came of that troublemaker’s whereabouts. And with whom.

Iwaizumi took a moment to take a sip of hot tea to try to ease the sudden throbbing at his temple. If Oikawa wanted his breakfast cold, then so be it. If he wanted to wander around the castle in his bedclothes, then so be it. If he wanted to forsake sleep regularly for yet another asinine obsession, then so be it.

For good measure, Iwaizumi finished off his half-filled plate before he trekked off to the study. He pushed open the door with scarcely a knock.

There was nothing kingly to find in the young man across the room. Oikawa leaned too far over a desk, no doubt sitting on a leg tucked beneath him, with a pen twirling in his hand. A tongue poked out in thought to whatever childish glee had taken him. Warm brown hair was neatly swept from his brow, gently curling around the base of his horns in what was perhaps fluffed from sleep—if however long he had spent in bed could be counted as sleeping. A thick robe of aqua blue only made his skin glow in the late morning light pouring in from the wide windows overseeing a room cluttered by dark wooden shelves and an overabundance of books. 

Perpendicular at the desk to Oikawa and with dirt crusting his normally red coat sat Kuroo, who slowly rocked his chair on its hind legs, looking half-asleep. He gave a short wave of salute. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said, his voice still gruff from the morning’s disuse. 

Oikawa’s head jerked up and the blaze of his red eyes softened to warmth. Such an intense look only made Iwaizumi wonder what Oikawa was up to or, worse, what the two of them had been talking about while so secluded. Oikawa could be bad enough on his own, but Kuroo’s presence only enflamed some of those mad pursuits which were better reigned in.

“Iwa-chan! Good—Wow, what an ugly face this morning. Did you not sleep?”

“Of course. Did _you_?” Iwaizumi closed the door behind him and approached the desk. It was piled with letters half-written. Names were missing at the top but Oikawa had signed his own at the bottom with sweeping, elegant lines.

“Of course,” Oikawa repeated with a jovial sound that only made Iwaizumi's eye twitch. It wasn't a lie but somehow it did not feel like the truth. “Beauty sleep is important. Isn't that right, Kuro-chan? You could use more sleep, too.”

“Could I, your Grace?” Kuroo laughed with a grin edged by a good degree of suffering. He rocked further back on the two hind legs of his chair. “I was on my way to bed before you caught me, in case you don’t remember.”

“Tut tut,” Oikawa chastised without heat. “The sky was already light by then and we've got work to do!” Oikawa turned his chin up to Iwaizumi with a pout. “Kuro-chan is being awful.” What else was new, Iwaizumi wondered. “He won't tell me where he was all night.”

A rarity, but it wasn't Kuroo's provocations Iwaizumi was interested in discussing. After all, Oikawa had already established that Kuroo was a court favorite who could do as he pleased. Iwaizumi would gladly throw the grinning cat out into the mote otherwise. “You're still in your nightclothes, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said instead. “Come on. Let’s go.”

The pout pinched. “Don't be boring, Iwa-chan.”

“You're call me boring when you're doing paperwork? Since dawn? Really?”

“Don't be boring, Iwa-kun,” Kuroo repeated with a lazy grin, sounding too friendly for his own good.

“These aren’t boring, Iwa-chan. Surely you recognize party invitations—or no, I suppose you wouldn’t—”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi began testily.

“Here, I’ll give this one to you then, although you have no choice but to come by orders of the king—”

His hands were already in fists at his sides. “Oy…”

But Oikawa had already stopped talking, his focus now on writing with a quick flourish of someone used to writing much and often. The ink was sanded and the letter promptly folded, and Iwaizumi watched at the absurdity of Oikawa going to such lengths as to melt red wax upon the folded corner and seal the invitation with his signet ring. It was as official as they came.

The paper Oikawa handed him was heavy. The warm wax and sapling emblem split easily as he unfolded it. _My dearest Iwa-chan,_ it began. The rest was written in another hand.  _You are cordially invited to attend_ , the invitation continued. The date was in three months for the twentieth of July.

Oikawa's birthday.

To see the piles and piles of blank invites was a stark reminder of another of Oikawa’s birthday, years before. He wondered if Oikawa remembered that one. No doubt he did. In front of Kuroo, however, Iwaizumi had no desire to bring it up.

“The other invitations aren't addressed,” he said instead.

“I haven't decided who else I am inviting yet.” Oikawa leaned forward on his elbows and cupped his chin in his palms. The heavy sleeves of his robe slipped past pale wrists to drape around his elbows. He seemed to glow. Whether it was from his future party or the attention or being well-rested, the effect was the same.

Kuroo, who had looked to be falling asleep, blinked rapidly as he pulled up himself forward with some effort. The front legs of his chair crashed back onto the floor, shaking him awake even further. He reached out towards a long list. “Are we at that part now? Let's see what you've come up with.”

Iwaizumi leaned his thigh and weight against the edge of the desk. “Haven't you been helping him with it?”

“Nope!” Kuroo and Oikawa chimed together in an obnoxious harmony.

“Kuro-chan's been telling me about the outer provinces,” Oikawa continued. “Towns being attacked by monsters. No protection. Isn't that awful, Iwa-chan? What territory was that again, Kuro-chan?”

“Karasuno,” Kuroo said while his eyes were stuck on the list.

“ _Karasuno_ , Iwa-chan.” The name of the place spoken with such a dark, scandalized tone that Iwaizumi had to wonder what other tales Kuroo was also telling. Last he had heard, Karasuno was an average place of little consequence.

Without preamble, Kuroo began to read aloud off of the list. “Dragon King Kiryu of the South, Raptor King Bokuto of the East, Hell King Sakusa of the West, and...” He smirked. “I could have sworn there were four directions. Aren't you forgetting someone?”

Oikawa’s relaxation was jolted, the hands holding his chin stiffening with his shoulders. “Hm?” The sound of Oikawa’s voice sang out in false innocence. “Of course not.”

“No Warrior Kings?”

Iwaizumi went rigid where he leaned. “No,” Oikawa and he said together in the same, quick breath.

Kuroo laughed. “My mistake. This is a good trio you have here.”

“Isn't it?” Oikawa sounded pleased.

“Are they?” Iwaizumi asked, doing nothing to hide his doubt. Feeling none too pleased, he shared a look with Oikawa, who had the decency to look put-upon. “You haven't met any of them, have you?” Any one of them could very well be Ushijima the Second, and that would definitely not do them any favors. If the Warrior King was bad, the Raptor or Hell Kings could easily be worse.

Kuroo's eyebrows rose. “You haven't met Kiryu or Sakusa? In all this time you've been King?”

It was a generous turn of phrase for someone who had not been called king for very long.

A delicate pink touched Oikawa's cheeks. He raised his chin proudly to mask it. “No. I've been—What about Bokuto?”

“What about Bokuto?”

“You only said Kiryu and Sakusa.”

“My mistake.” Kuroo flicked the list back towards Oikawa. He pillowed his chin on his folded arms atop the desk. “I'm exhausted, you know?”

“Not exhausted enough,” Iwaizumi murmured under his breath, annoyed that Oikawa had caught onto whatever game Kuroo was playing faster than he did. Annoyed as well that there was a game like this to be played at all.

Oikawa looked thoughtfully at Kuroo while Iwaizumi starred them both down. “You know Bokuto, Kuro-chan?” Oikawa asked.

Kuroo wore that lazy smile again. “I do.”

Oikawa nearly swiped a stack of letters onto the floor as he all but pounced on Kuroo. His claws gripped at Kuroo’s jacket as he gave him a vicious shake. The swiftness of it made Iwaizumi nearly jolt back, and he could see Kuroo was caught unexpected. A rare sight. “What!? Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“You never asked,” Kuroo retorted with a choked cough loud enough to make Oikawa find his calm.

“Kuro-chan, that's not very nice!” Oikawa’s frown was childlike in its petulance. Iwaizumi hated that he found it endearing—especially after that last display. “Of course I want to meet him! When did you last see him?”

Kuroo laughed, a sheepish sound. “Last night. Near Karasuno. He did a nice number on that group of hoarders. Quite a show. You'd have liked it.”

They slid back into their seats once Oikawa released his hold. Iwaizumi stepped closer before he leaned back against the desk, half-mindful of the papers that rustled against his cape. “You little sneak,” Oikawa murmured, and then louder, “What's so special about Karasuno? They’re strength is average at best. Fukurodani would devour them, if they ever left the East.”

“You know... I didn't ask. I will next time—when I deliver your invitation. He's a good guy. He'll want to meet you.”

“Good,” Oikawa said, not sounding entirely satisfied for reasons known only to Oikawa.

“Are you sure you want to invite Kiryu and Sakusa too then? They are both a little...”

“All of them are out of sorts, Kuro-chan. They wouldn't be ace lords otherwise.” Oikawa's hand settled on Iwaizumi's knee without warning. “Iwa-chan will be with me the entire time though.”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms in front of his chest, a tension headache coming on, but he couldn’t help grinning. “As if we’d let them do as they pleased here.” Oikawa squeezed his leg in reply.

“I'm happy for you,” Kuroo said playfully, “but that is not entirely what I meant. You should know you won't be able to get away with serving something as mundane as roasted boar.”

“If it's anything like last year," Iwaizumi said, "there will be duck and chicken, trout and salmon—”

“I'm glad to know salmon is on the menu, but also not what I meant.” With the golden light cascading in from the window, it struck Kuroo's back and shadowed his face. His eyes glistened with a bright, colorless gaze.

“What is it then?” Iwaizumi finally asked.

“Food, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa cut in brightly, the profile of his face sill glowing in the light. “Nothing for—” you to worry about, which meant it damn well was.

Iwaizumi was tired of their conspiratorial dance. Birthday invitations were one thing, but more ace lords and Karasuno was enough for one morning. “What is it?" he demanded.

With a trickle of fear, his first thought was human. But Oikawa wouldn't.

He wouldn’t.

Iwaizumi ignored Kuroo’s sly grin and stared at Oikawa, who huffed a loud sigh and answered, “Demons,” with no greater weight than if he were speaking of the weather. He shuffled through his nameless invitations forlornly. “Maybe we should look through guest group C for dinner choices.”

As if Oikawa knew enough people for a group C, the moron.

Kuroo and Oikawa laughed.

Iwaizumi dragged a hand down his face. It was too damn early for this. “You both are insane if that doesn’t bother you.”

Oikawa cleared his throat and took on a more serious air. “It’s not popular with other demons, obviously. Ah—ace lords are the only ones I know who make a habit of it. The real question is whether they do it because they are strong or if they are strong because they absorb the power of other demons.”

“Which is it?”

Oikawa sighed noisily. “Who knows. Now, Kuro-chan, does the list past inspection?”

“It looks great, but it's missing something.”

Iwaizumi began, “If he says human eaters—”

"A princess."

Iwaizumi let out an incredulous laugh but in its wake, silence. A silence that lasted far too long, as Oikawa's mouth had fallen open in a moment of awe, in a moment of realization.

“That's moronic,” Iwaizumi hastened to point out. “What need does he need a princess for? It's Oikawa's birthday.”

“No, no, Iwa-chan, Kuro-chan has a point.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Does he now?”

“It's all part of the pageantry. You’re absolutely correct, Kuro-chan.” Oikawa nodded several times with far too much earnestness. “A fair princess is a fine addition to any castle. This is a perfect opportunity.”

That was wrong. The meaningful look Oikawa and Kuroo shared told Iwaizumi that something was going unsaid.

Or perhaps they had said what they needed to already, when no one else was around to listen.

And what with them speaking of demon eaters so casually, he couldn't imagine what that was. It didn't seem like he was about to find out now, either. With a stretch of his back, Kuroo dragged himself from his seat to standing. “I’m glad you agree. Although, you don't mind if we save this decision for later, at least? My brain has ceased to function. Sleep and fish should do the trick. I can't think of any princesses suitable to attend our Great Demon King's birthday.”

Oikawa smiled up at Kuroo—Iwaizumi tried not to put too much meaning into its warmth. “Of course, Kuro-chan. Get some rest. We’ll talk about this later.”

Kuroo plucked one of the invitations from the pile as he passed. “For Bokuto,” he stated with a smile, and then he left the room.

The sunlight pouring in felt heavier in his absence.

“You spend too much time with him,” Iwaizumi said at last. "I still don't think we can trust him.”

Oikawa's affronted wide-eyes narrowed and turned sly. “Are you saying you don't trust my judgement, Iwa-chan?”

“Absolutely. Your judgement is awful.” And he cut off whatever useless retort Oikawa’s pout was hastily mustering as he continued, “I’m saying he showed up one day, no one knows who the hell he is, and you've been joined at the hip ever since. And now he wants you to what, _steal_ a princess?”

“We’re not going to steal a princess, Iwa-chan, don’t be silly.” Oikawa's head tilted in thought. “Also, let’s not forget that Kiyoko-chan recommended him.”

“After he had been here a week.”

“ _Besides_ —” There was a forceful finality to Oikawa’s tone— “it's not Kuro-chan's hip I want.” He rose from his chair to his feet in a smooth, languid motion. The fabric of his robe rustled, falling back into place across his chest a brisk moment before Oikawa swept it back again. The malleable fabric of his nightshirt meshed against the stiffer cotton of Iwaizumi’s tunic as Oikawa leaned into him, chest to chest. The added weight forced the edge of the desk to dig in deep into Iwaizumi's thighs as he leaned back further.

Sharp nails dug into his hips. Deep enough to ache but not to injure.

But as Iwaizumi leaned in to take a kiss, Oikawa raised his chin, taking his loathsome height difference to his advantage. His eyes twinkled in a way that promised nothing the likes of which Iwaizumi wanted right then, what with Oikawa’s warm body pressed against him. Iwaizumi had half a mind to shove him off for it.

“Do you want to kiss me, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi stared back, unimpressed.

“Well, do you?” The nails dug and dragged up then down and Iwaizumi cursed.

“Against _my_ better judgement, yes,” he replied.

Oikawa laughed. “I knew it.” As though it were some kind of secret. Idiot. But Oikawa’s tongue swept across his lower lip, and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but follow it with his eyes. “I know what you want, Iwa-chan. I also know what Kuro-chan wants.”

Even while knowing that ability to find someone's weakness was in Oikawa's nature, this particular one caught Iwaizumi by surprise. “What does he want?” he asked, gathering Oikawa and the layers of fabric into his arms, preventing Oikawa from slipping away in further playfulness.

“That’s for me to know, Iwa-chan. So trust _my_ judgement and kiss me.”

“You ask a lot.”

“Well,” Oikawa began, soft lips brushing over Iwaizumi’s cheekbone, “that’s because I am the king.”

Iwaizumi felt laughter rumbling in his chest before it slipped out. Since the days of their childhood, nothing between them had changed—or almost nothing. This was simply newly grown, the urge to kiss and be kissed, to touch and be touched. “I don’t have any interest in _the king_. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Oikawa’s eyes were closed, his chin slightly tucked, his lips loosely parted in wait. He looked patient, at ease. His nails had withdrawn and now his hands were at rest, palms and fingers splayed in a lighter hold. Waiting. Waiting. If anyone wanted a kiss, it was Oikawa. “None at all.”

“Good, Shittykawa.” And Iwaizumi tilted his chin up, lips brushing lips.

“That’s not very romantic, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, wanting, as always, the last word.

And with Oikawa already in his grasp, he could fucking have it.

 

_ _ _ _

 

Upon his gilded throne with his head cocked just _so_ , Oikawa looked down on all who came to petition him. It was born from years of practice, Iwaizumi knew, even as Oikawa insisted such noble bearings ran in his blood. The draping blue robe and pale nightclothes were now replaced with the sharp and severe of his fitted black tunic and tall white boots. His sweeping dark cape with its high collar cascaded the royal seat with shadow. A crown upon his head, wrought in silver and twining like vines, caught the light each time he tilted his head.

The thoughtful, narrow-eyed look Oikawa had worn for the duration of the afternoon finally broke once the last petitioner had retreated. “I am troubled,” he announced to a hall of guards, advisors, and spectators all.

Iwaizumi frowned. Oikawa was not one to boast publically of his unease.

But any concern Iwaizumi had was crippled when Kuroo, standing near enough to the throne as to lean his elbow upon the back of it, asked, “Does the court not please you, your Grace?”

“It pleases me not,” Oikawa stated coldly. Iwaizumi shifted his weight, wondering what this was all about. Kindaichi rustled beside him, but settled when he realized Iwaizumi was keeping to his post at the edge of the dais.

“We have been at peace since I was given the throne—”

Less given and more taken, and not all that peaceful since, Iwaizumi thought wryly, thinking of all the cuts and bruises on their youngest troops whenever they scouted the countryside.

“These petitioners,” Oikawa continued, “come to us regarding debts and land and inheritance, not murder or molestation of property. Our closest neighbors, meanwhile, are laid waste by destruction by their own inability to find peace, by their own lack of strength.”

Iwaizumi was pretty damn sure Shiratorizawa was by no means lacking in that regard. Beating one’s enemies into submission tended to have that effect.

“Their weakness is a threat to us. Our own peace is a threat to us. If we mean to take the world, we must hit it until it breaks.”

A voice flared up in the crowd. “Aoba Jousai!”

And suddenly the court broke into applause and chants of _Aoba Jousai, Aoba Jousai_ , _Aoba Jousai_. Matsukawa let out a wolf whistle between his fingers and the whole lot of the younger soldiers ensued with their own. Words burst out damning their neighbors, from the monsters of Shiratorizawa to the trickster pests from Johzenji. There were injuries to be repaid, wings to clip, territories to gain.

Over the uproarious crowd, Iwaizumi had to raise his voice to catch Oikawa’s attention before he caught his eye. “You want us to go to war?”

Oikawa smiled at him. No, smiled _upon_ him. A smile swelling with such pride that left Iwaizumi’s stunned and his face flushed. “Of course, Iwa-chan. We have all been dormant for far too long. We must spread our roots if we mean to grow stronger—or taller, in your case.”

Iwaizumi recovered his senses in haste. Oikawa was lucky he sat upon the throne, the one place Iwaizumi had sworn not to hit him, because the temptation to strike him was overwhelming. Instead, he gazed on as Oikawa rose to his feet. He approached the edge of the dais to rest a strong hand upon Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

In the look they shared, Iwaizumi could feel his will growing, his strength mounting. Of course they could do this.

They would do this together.

“Aoba Jousai!” Iwaizumi roared.

A deep breath swelled in Oikawa’s chest. His brown eyes swept past to look over his guards, over the men at arms, and the crowd beyond. His smile was as beautiful as it was haunting in its power. A shiver ran up Iwaizumi’s spine. The grip tightened on his shoulder as Oikawa announced in a calm, resonate voice, “I believe in all of you.”


	3. In which even the strongest of trees have their hollows

A quick spin of the crystal ball between Kuroo's hands melted the castle's white-washed walls into darkness, into shadows, into aggressive green for as far as his eyes could see. The heavy canopy of leaves far above him rustled in a distant wind. Blades of light danced across the mossy earth. Just out of sight, he could hear the trickling of a steady stream. His steps were muffled as he turned around, grinning at this long-lost place where Bokuto had decided to call home. He felt caught in the in-between, for just as a sense of déjà vu whispered through him, the cool spring breeze from Kuroo's open balcony had become but a pleasant memory. The scent of pine and rot and musty soil clotted the air and weighed on his tongue. Beneath his feet, pale bones tiled the ground like paving stones.

Kuroo sought his bearings and stepped lightly as he approached the base of a colossal tree. The exposed roots were thick enough to hide under but, instead of more bones to accompany them, dried and dead flowers were pressed into a nook of bare, brown earth where no sunlight reached and no plants grew. 

A welcome mat? Who else would come, he wondered, to this abandoned place. The crystal ball, which slumped heavily at the bottom of his pocket, was a powerful if fickle resource. It could get him where he needed to be only by certain rhymes and reasons. This time it refused to get him up into the air where he currently desired.

So for now, he was left gazing up at a tree looming fifty feet above and beyond, reaching far past the woolen blanket of foliage. The nearest branch would still have been beyond his reach if he had his own shoulders to stand upon. When they used to write letters, Bokuto had sworn that heights were a great deterrent to any heroes who tried to be cheeky.

_Cheeky_. Bokuto had always been confidant but such flippant bravado had to be Akaashi’s influence.

It could be a good thing, Kuroo considered, recalling the zest with which Bokuto had laid-waste the town the other day. And yet the time for Bokuto to return to court was long-passed due.

Crouching low and leaping upwards, a surge of wind sent him soaring ten, twenty, thirty feet off the ground. The branches thickened but soon he was flowing through them with molten ease. Up and up, the air rustled his black bangs from his forehead, and he could see, feel, the freedom for a moment why anyone would want to live in the middle of nowhere.

Without warning, the forest spun. Ground above and leaves below. He was jerked back down and his feet flew over his head. He choked out in surprise. A quiet forest was a forest inhabited by demons, as the saying went, and he was glad. While he was reminded that his current solitude was not his original intention, that he had never meant to go at his current endeavor alone, at least no one was around to see his fine red coat hang him half-way up a tree.

He was more of a city-type of demon in any case. Roads and carriages added a little more finesse and dignity compared to unhooking the now torn cloth from some spiky outcropping of bark. And, as a pair of talons hooked him from behind, he was reminded of why he avoided forests in general.

Kuroo's first chance at regaining the upper hand had been left behind, on ground-level, where he could swing his arms without scrapping them on the tight thicket of branches now surrounding him. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. The wings of his attacker seemed unjustly immune to that problem. Talons had a solid grip on his clothes, pierced through the fabric, and dug into his skin. He felt shoved and pulled all at once.

“Bo—” Kuroo raged with a swipe over his shoulder. A cacophony of screeches rattled his senses, but it was the uncomfortable tingling across his skin which hastened his recovery. The static thickened. He could feel it make a mess of his hair—making an already bad situation worse. Attacked by the tree and a demon owl was about his limit for one evening. Being struck by lightning would have to wait another day.

With a slash of his hand in the narrow space allowed him, scarcely missing the frantic flapping of wings, a slice of a spell cut at the thicket above them. The large owl squawked in alarm as the avalanche of tree debris found its exposed back first.

Talons released their hold. Branches cascaded around Kuroo and the ward tempered by the palm of his hand. With their passing came a burst of a deepening blue sky in the gap he had created. The massive tree rose another thirty feet up, standing sentinel over the shorter forest around it. From a deep gash of a hollow, a small owl with dark feathers and darker eyes peered down at him.

Kuroo slumped onto the branches which had caught him in his fall. “Curse the both of you,” he groaned.

His attacker, whose white feathers were ruffled but otherwise unharmed—the lucky fool—landed on a lean top branch. Bokuto was quick in his transition, which was something awful to look upon. A beak with teeth. A body elongating. Talons grew to threatening size before merging and softening into feet and toes. Wings retreated into thick, muscular arms while skin bloomed forth as feathers receded from a familiar face.

When lips finally settled, Bokuto was all smiles. “Hey, hey, hey! If it isn’t Kuroo!”

Kuroo propped himself back up as best he could for dignity’s sake but, gods damn it all, he couldn’t help grinning back. “Trying to kill me? Here I was thinking you liked me all this time.”

“You should have told me you were coming to visit!” For a large man, Bokuto perched at ease on the balls of his feet, resting on a branch that should have been too slender to support him. Short white feathers still lined his hairline, creeped along his neck, and scattered across his bare chest and arms. All he wore was a pair of light linen underpants. “We don’t get visitors this early, you know?” He shrugged. “Not the friendly kind, anyway.”

With less finesse than Kuro would have liked, he pulled himself up to standing on his own branch, putting them closer to eye level. “I would have sent you a letter but the post master doesn’t know your address anymore.”

Bokuto’s brow furrowed. “What’s a post master?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The laughter in his chest did little to mask the quick, uncomfortable tightness. “I know this is your tree and it's a great tree and all, but what do you say about going to ground level?”

“Oh?” Bokuto perked up. “Sure.”

The fallen branches had joined the ancient roots and dried flowers and old bones. Kuroo's back was aching something fierce as he made a soft landing onto the dim forest floor.  Something on his face must have given him away for a moment later Bokuto was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about attacking you.”

“Yeah, yeah." Kuroo waived him off. "I knocked you senseless up there so it’s fine.”

“You deserved what you got, though.”

Kuroo scoffed and gave Bokuto a friendly shove. “ _Yeah, yeah_. I should be glad it was just you. Otherwise I might have been in trouble.” The shoving turned into jostling which transitioned into a struggle, something which might have been a hug before Bokuto nearly seized him in a headlock. With his newfound height advantage, Kuroo had his arm easily thrown across Bokuto’s shoulders by the end of it as they shared a laugh. The sound of it seeped into the forest before the silence pressed back in.

Kuroo’s eyes looked up towards the canopy but, beyond the rustling of leaves, there was no other movement. “Is Akaashi going to join us?”

Bokuto’s hand pounded Kuroo's back energetically enough to force his release. “Nah, daytime doesn’t agree with him. He would have gone back to sleep when he heard your name.” A light sparked in his widening golden eyes. “Can't have him missing one of your rare visits though... I’ll go get him! The sunlight’s not so strong down here.” He looked up at the tree with a sudden eagerness.

It was best, Kuroo considered in haste, to keep it to the two of them for now. “Leave him be, Bo. We haven’t seen much of each other in a year beyond that dine-and dash the other day.” The house had gone up in flames and they all decided to call it a night—or, more accurately, a dawn, and a pinkish one at that. “There's all sorts of news you're missing out on,” he added with a smirk.

Bokuto eyed him with open curiosity. “What kind of news?”

The proper strategy was to use the proper bait before setting the final snare. He knew Bokuto had moved out here because Akaashi must have said something to him. Years ago, Kuroo knew what that something was, but that escaped him now and the reason surely wasn’t important anymore. Probably. It simply wasn't underhanded to try to pull Bokuto back using the same tactic out of Akaashi’s book. Kuroo's smirk widened. “You’re getting pretty popular in the capital.”

“Woah, seriously?” There was always a touch of bemusement to see Bokuto shocked at his own popularity. Or infamy. Kuroo had spent years listening to Bokuto crow over his own successes, but to have someone else sing them out of the blue left his little bird brain stumped.

It was pretty endearing.

“You need to come to the capital. Hear it for yourself. Hell, see it for yourself!” Kuroo threw his arms out wide. “A waste to live out in the middle of nowhere, isn’t it? I mean, castles are all the rage. Good for letter deliveries, too.”

Bokuto, bless him, looked sold already. “I know, I know! Sometimes I miss Fukurodani. That castle was great...”

Kuroo inhaled slowly and waited, giving Bokuto’s thoughts room to breathe. Discussing that old scar wouldn’t do either of them any good. They had talked enough. Now was the time to act. 

“The forest is great, too!” Bokuto continued, his voice rising in determination. It gave Kuroo the sense that Bokuto had argued with himself about this before. “We can see everything from our hollow but no one can see us.” His smile turned broad and boastful “I _did_ get the jump on you.”

Kuroo waived it off—albeit a little more annoyed than he meant to. He'd have to figure out how to properly pay Bokuto back for the scratches. Recalling the human from the other day only reminded him that that was how the world worked, but that was beside the point. For now, there was no time to get sidetracked if daylight hours were all they had for a one-on-one. “How exactly is a forest as great as a castle? No visitors. No stuff.” He waved a hand over Bokuto's half-naked body. "No _clothes_.”

Bokuto crossed his arms over his broad chest before uncrossing them immediately to point towards the forest canopy. “The laundry is hanging right there.” Kuroo squinted but couldn't see anything but green.

“Castles these days have running water,” Kuroo countered. “Pipes and gears bring it right into the castle for drinking, washing, defecating. It's real revolutionary.”

Bokuto's head tilted over a shoulder. He just looked confused. 

“Why aren't you more impressed?” The words were already out of his mouth before Kuroo realized how like Oikawa that sounded. Maybe Bokuto wasn’t the only one who needed to socialize more.

Bokuto gestured widely. “If you step over here to the right, you'll see we also have running water.”

Kuroo didn’t need to move to know. “That's a stream, Bo.”

“Yeah, and it's running.” He stuck out his tongue. “Castles are a chore. We get to leave our food out and no one will take it, although Akaashi always says we should bury it until we eat it. Except he's the one leaving them lying about half the time...” Bokuto scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Letters are great but this isn't bad at all!”

_Akaashi_. Even Bokuto’s complaints of his little owl were fraught with fondness. For someone as infatuated as Bokuto obviously was, Kuroo couldn’t help but prod him where it might bother him the most. His voice was low and smooth as he pointed out, “I bet you can’t fit a bed in that tree hollow.”

A moment passed as Bokuto shifted his weight to the other foot. Living in the forest or no, Bokuto was still Bokuto, and Kuroo had seen his moods shift enough times in the past to know where his mood was surely going now. That this might be a sore spot was rather curious. Bokuto was a demon of instant gratification. If he liked living in the middle of the forest, then he liked it for what it was and not what it would become.

There was a flickering of something in Bokuto's eyes before he averted his gaze. But it wasn't what Kuroo expected. This was something bashful, something vulnerable, something which made the skin on Bokuto’s face flush and his smile turn sweet. “We don’t need a bed," Bokuto finally said. "Feathers are softer and Akaashi’s are the softest.”

Kuroo couldn't stop the single laugh that broke out. “That's real cute, Bo.”

Bokuto’s blush reddened as he let out an embarrassed huff. “That goes for Kenma and you, too, doesn't it?”

Kuroo sobered up real quick. “All right, all right,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “We're talking about you and your tree house here.”

From above them, a calm voice cut in. “If you consider it a house, it's no wonder you're disappointed.” Kuroo's neck twinged as he snapped his chin up in alarm to find Akaashi sitting on the lowest branch. All long lines and lean arms, toned chest and legs bare, the linen underpants were nearly the same shade as his skin, giving Kuroo the initial impression that he was nude. Like Bokuto, Akaashi was still sporting dabbles of feathers, predominately black with tones of white, from his hairline and down his neck and over the edges of the rest of him. Heavy-lidded eyes made him look like he was still half-asleep, but the dark pupils were clear and intelligent. 

“No provoking Akaashi today.” Bokuto's whisper was his normal voice, for it was in that same voice he called up to Akaashi. “Evening, Akaashi! You didn't have to get up so early. It’s only Kuroo.” But he sounded pleased.

It was one thing to watch Bokuto slip through the air, quiet and powerful while strangely gentle, and another to watch Akaashi, who cut swiftly like a knife.

Kuroo had a few minutes to rethink strategy while the other two reclaimed their clothes from the tree tops. It was not an orderly operation by any means. Bokuto went topside and began pulling down pants and cloaks, odds and ends from the line and let them fall where they may. Akaashi, now on the ground, caught them deftly, not saying a word of complaint when he had to hasten off after a cloak which drifted away too far. And by the time Bokuto had returned, Akaashi was fully dressed.

Kuroo had no idea what to make of this odd domesticity.  “As I was saying,” he began anew instead, “you—the both of you—should visit Oikawa’s castle. Get a taste for living the good life, you know?” It was little use to remind them that they had known the good life once upon a time. Magic played tricks on the memory, of which Kuroo knew all too well. Safeguards could only do so much.

Akaashi’s silence wasn’t promising, but he wasn’t objecting, either. Bokuto spoke up first. “You mean like a vacation? That sounds great, man! But, well, his castle is pretty far away, isn’t?”

“It’s not—” That far, Kuroo nearly said. The truth was that he had no better idea where they currently were compared to where they were the other day. To say he had lied to Oikawa was a stretch, for he had not known it was a lie, only a reasonable and useful assumption. “Aren’t we by Karasuno?”

“Karasuno?”

“The village you attacked—”

Even while in his human skin, Bokuto’s spiked white and black hair seemed to ruffle on his head. “I didn’t attack any village.”

“I mean,” Kuroo corrected, “the stag demon you hunted. In the human village.”

“Oh,” said Akaashi. “We had been following them for some time.” Bokuto nodded.

Kuroo changed his approach. “What forest is this?”

“The Dark Forest,” Bokuto said.

“Which one?”

“ _The_ Dark Forest?” Bokuto suggested, more question than statement.   

“Nice try.”

“Well, I don’t have a map…” Kuroo expected as much and had arrived prepared, but Bokuto looked to Akaashi for help. “I know there’s the old Date Tech Wall in the north.”

“There’s too many of those around to tell which is which,” Kuroo said. They were ancient border walls meant to hold the demonic surge, but the lack of manpower had resulted in the Date Tech Company surrendering the countryside to defend the cities instead. Most of the walls had fallen and the builders had scattered like dust in the wind. “How about the Johzenji or the Shiratorizawa borders?” From one of his pockets, Kuroo plucked out an ancient and crinkled map, compliments to the Demon King's library.

Akaashi and Bokuto crowded around him to look at the darkening paper, with its deep folded crevasses and fading lines. The sunlight evaded the map just as the other birds and animals had no doubt evaded the forest when Akaashi and Bokuto moved in. Thankfully, all three sets of eyes found the darkness agreeable.

“We don’t know Johzenji,” Akaashi supplemented Bokuto’s continued baffled looks.

“Here.” Kuroo pointed at a lake surrounded by a ring of wispy trees. “The Demon King is here," he said, poking his finger at a castle standing proudly in a blank space of nothing. Another poke closer to the top made the map crinkle. "Shiratorizawa lies beyond the Demon King's Court, in the north, and Karasuno is here,” another poke, “on the southern side.”

“Does that mean we’re south of south?” Bokuto asked.

The deep valley of Fukurodani was not shown on the map. Neither was Nekoma nor Nohebi, or any of the more familiar provinces to home.

Three sighs occurred in unison.

“Just carry us back with you,” Bokuto decided aloud. “That crystal ball of yours isn’t half bad, right?”

“No can do, Bo,” Kuroo said, feeling apologetic if only because that would be incredibly convenient if it were at all possible. “It only has a seat enough for one. One ball, one life.” Although he could carry all the supplies he wished, carrying too much sometimes left him winded.

“Does it need to be the Demon King’s castle in particular?” Akaashi asked. “I would think any castle would do for running water or mail.”

So Akaashi had heard everything, Kuroo thought with a wince.

“We should find our own castle, Akaashi,” Bokuto said, spiking Kuroo with alarm. “A new one, just for us.”

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Kuroo announced with a bite of ceremony and a flash of teeth. From the safety of his inside jacket, he withdrew Oikawa’s letter. “Bokuto has been invited to the Demon King’s big birthday bash this summer.”

“Great!” Bokuto exclaimed, taking the letter and holding it up proudly above his head “Where’s Akaashi’s?”

“You only need the one.”

Akaashi shrugged, misunderstanding for the first time. “I don’t mind not going,” he said with a plain face, but Kuroo had a feeling he would mind very much.

“Bokuto,” Kuroo said, cutting off Bokuto’s sudden outburst of shock and dismay. “You’re a VIP, with a very important invite. You can bring guests.”

“Akaashi’s coming then! Akaashi, you’re coming.”

Kuroo recalled a similar conversation before, between another king and his knight.

“…All right,” came Akaashi’s unenthusiastic acceptance. But it was in that acceptance Kuroo realized he had made a mistake in his approach. There was no gatekeeper here. Akaashi was following Bokuto's lead, and not the other way around because there was no other way around. Bokuto always marched to the beat of his own drum.

“That settles it,” Bokuto confirmed with a nod. “I also want everyone else to come.”

Kuroo nearly let out a sigh of relief, but it did not do to look overeager. “Everyone?”

“Konoha, Shirofuku,” Bokuto counted on his fingers, “Komiyan, and all them, of course.”

_Of course_.

“That’s quite a few guests,” Kuroo teased. “It’s not _your_ party.”

Bokuto scowled. “You just said I was a VIP! With a very important invite! Can I bring them or not?”

“Sure, the more the merrier,” Kuroo said breezily, knowing, in Oikawa’s case, that that was not true in the slightest. 

 

_ _ _ _

 

“Oikawa-san,” came the last voice which should speak when Oikawa held a sword. A wave of quiet rolled across the open yard as others stopped their own matches to watch. The pale, bear-like Aone took the brunt of Oikawa's next strike. And the next and the next as Oikawa feigned deafness to the sound of that voice. The blunted edge of his weapon sang as it collided with metal, not flesh. Aone held strong, failing to yield to the current onslaught of blows. Deep grooves crisscrossed into the metal surface of his shield. Such a cheap replication it was to the beautiful shield Aone had once wielded, one with a polished surface made immune to nearly everything. Such magnificent crafting had gone into its creation. Such beauty was there at it shattered beneath Iwaizumi’s blade one fine day when blades were not blunted. A beautiful end for a beautiful and dangerous piece of armor.

Oikawa was sure if he put some magic into his sword edge, the metallic husk in front of him would crack right down the center for himself as well.

But that would defeat the purpose of working on his swordsmanship. The training yard was a place of growth and practice, not of blood and senseless violence.

But accidents did happen.

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama said once more, his voice too loud, too close, and too ignorant of his disrespect as always. It was not out of cunning that Kageyama forewent the proper honorifics. Oikawa also dismissed it as being due to a sense of camaraderie, holding no such sentiment for Kageyama himself. Oikawa was King, but to hear the whispers—in the yard, around the garden, in the hall—there were two kings in this court. “Can I have a word with you?”

_You have already taken several,_ Oikawa thought heatedly, but he lowered his sword to his side, feeling quite magnanimous as he did so. His voice was spun with lightness, leaving his body weighted and tense. “Do you know why I choose Aone-kun as my practice partner, Tobio-chan?" An unexpected smile graced him as Aone lowered his shield but not his defense. _Good_. That was how it was supposed to be.

Kageyama blinked owlishly, bright blue eyes as empty as the sky. His wooden practice sword hung from a loop at his belt. For all of the problems Kageyama caused him, the threat of being stabbed was not one of them.

“The Date Tech Company are renowned for their—”

Such an answer was the worst because Oikawa knew it was heading in the right direction, technically speaking. “It is because he does not _talk_ ,” he cut in, already weary of this conversation. From nearby but not near enough, he could see Iwaizumi raise a skeptical eyebrow. But Iwaizumi simply did not understand. The trainees around him knew. Oikawa could see it plainly on their faces. Kindaichi's good-natured enthusiasm at being in Iwaizumi's presence had turned sour. Kunimi, always sparse in his moods, was side-eye the proceedings with a tight-mouth of distaste. That Kageyama's own troop could not stand him was validation enough for Oikawa’s dismissal.

That Kageyama still stood before Oikawa a moment later, not realizing his request was denied, made Oikawa sigh. He tried to let the worst of his mental pains go in that single breath.

It was rather amazing how much of a simpleton Kageyama was, being a genius.

It was still no excuse.

“Was that our moment, Tobio-chan? Excellent!” Oikawa said, already turning back to Aone. He would make sure to break that damnable shield today. “Then—”

Kageyama’s words toppled over one another in his eagerness to speak. “I have a request.”

Oikawa bit back his laughter. “A request, is it?” To hear Kindaichi and Kunimi speak of him, Kageyama was all demands. Oikawa wasn't sure if he should feel flattered.

But the fact of the matter was that he was not.

“Please allow me to take the front guard against Karasuno.”

This expected clash with their neighbor was, in truth, one of Oikawa's passing fancies. A test of strength, no more, no less, no matter of Kuroo's other schemes. Kuroo was not the first to try to sleuth his way into Oikawa's good graces but he was the first outsider so far to succeed. Kageyama was home-grown and still Oikawa could hardly stand the sight of him. 

So the whispers in the yard rose into an unusual hush when, instead of no, Oikawa asked, “Why?” The pressure of the sound weighed on his teeth and left his jaw rigid. He could feel the intensity of his own gaze—his vision narrowing, eyes searching, for whatever trick was being played.

But everyone knew why. Surely they knew. Kageyama was promising in all things for a human. His magic was steady and his arrows swift and sure. He struggled in hand to hand combat, no matter how many times Iwaizumi showed him the stances, but that was by a personality flaw, not a physical one. While he was weaker with a sword, he was no means weak.

He was a genius and Oikawa hated him for it and disgust prickled his skin for thinking Kageyama mattered at all.

From the other side of the yard, someone was slowly pushing his way forward. No doubt it was Iwaizumi. Oikawa could sense him in all ways.

“You said you believe in all of us,” Kageyama responded, using Oikawa's own words against him. The worst betrayal of all. “I mean to prove myself most capable, as one of the most capable here.”

Oikawa’s felt the blood leave his face. His grip tightened on the sword pommel.

“Kageyama, this isn’t the place—” Iwaizumi began to intervene, in order to—what? Allow Oikawa to find composure? To save face? To spare Kageyama the brutal beheading the blunted sword in Oikawa's right hand promised or the searing decay promised by his bare left?

It was too late. Kageyama had opened his mouth and everyone had heard. Such a silly request it was, too. Iwaizumi was Oikawa's best knight, no matter how highly Kageyama might think of himself.

“Of course I believe in you, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa said in a tone which could turn a man’s blood cold. Wherever his eyes were looking, they settled on nothing, taking in everything. “Iwa-chan has trained such valiant brave young men in your ranks. I shall grant you the front against Karasuno’s stronghold, Corvus.”

Kageyama, in his ignorance, smiled that tight-lipped smile of his with all the blissful radiance coming from those terrible blue eyes. “Thank you, Oikawa-san!”

The expressions on Kindaichi and Kunimi's faces bore anything but gratitude. But they were Oikawa's precious knights. They had all the promise of being some of his best one day. He would not allow anything to happen to them but, for now, he needed them for this. They were the only ones who could prove to the court, without a doubt, Kageyama's inability to ever become king.

“Do us proud, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa said, finding the ease to smile once again.

 

_ _ _ _

 

Kuroo's coat pulled at him as the wind gusted past. A wind which made the top of the tree line of the rich, dense forest sway like an ocean. And once the wind had passed, the rustle of leaves stilled and the forest fell back to silence. Not even Bokuto and Akaashi's transformations made a noise. Their long feathers grew from their backs and down their shoulders to elbows to wrists as quiet as creeping vines. It was as enchanting as it was grotesque, and Kuroo could not look away. Wings took over their arms, stole away their hands, before the new limbs separated and their arms became useful and human again. Together, they rose into the air like ghosts. Only the whispered breeze off their wings as they moved gave them presence at all. Once they were airborne, they hovered with ease, for they were demons first and owls second.

Bokuto leaned down to grab Kuroo's wrist with a mischievous look. Already Kuroo could feel his feet lifting up. “Hey, Kuroo, how about—”

“Woah, now! First of all, the answer is no. Second, I’ve had enough of your talons, thanks.” Kuroo laughed, pushing Bokuto back and preparing to hook his foot around the branch beneath him for good measure.

“I haven’t asked you anything yet!”

“I’ve an early morning tomorrow and now I have to track down all of your other feathered friends, wherever they might be.” Out of his pocket he drew his crystal ball. “We’ll have all the fun at the pre-party at Corvus Castle. Don’t forget it.” It was the quickest fix to their geography problems. Karasuno’s castle sat on a slowly slopping hill and sparkled like a precious gemstone. It was as difficult to miss as it was difficult to defend.

Akaashi had taken the map out again, Kuroo having given it to them in the meantime. It would be more comforting if one of them could take notes, but Kuroo was sure they had forgotten how to read.

“Remember,” Kuroo repeated for the umpteenth time, “the glass garden on the South-East tower. It’s the highest one. I’ll find you there.”

“And then?” Akaashi asked. The wind came again and tugged at the map. He carefully folded it back up and tucked it away.

Kuroo grinned. “We’ll travel back to the Demon King’s castle in style. I’ll see you two again in two months.”

“Two months is so long.” As though dangling by strings, Bokuto’s whole body slumped.

“We’ll have all the time to play when you get to the castle. Promise.”

“You don’t need to promise me stuff, Kuroo. I’m not a kid!”

“Bye, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi said, cutting off the impending bickering retort already resting on Kuroo’s tongue.

And Kuroo was thankful for it. “Bye, Akaashi. Look after him.”

Akaashi gave him a strange look, his skin flushed by the dark sky still bleeding crimson on the horizon.

“If anyone needs looking after, it’s you, Kuroo!” Bokuto contested, hitting a little too close to home for Kuroo’s liking.

“Corvus Castle! The highest garden! Two months!”

“All right, fine!” Bokuto yelped. “I got it!”

For a moment, Kuroo did consider staying. It wouldn’t hurt to play with them—after so long, he could do with a good stretch to let his magic and whims run free. But there would be time for that later, and there was work to be done now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My reason for not adding slow build to the tags until now: denial.
> 
> There will be a murder (of crows) in the next chapter and, after that, everything will break loose! See you next time?


End file.
